One Foot In
by axisofsymmetry
Summary: Dave is allowed to board the airplane early. Half an hour later, who else sits next to him but one Kurt Hummel? This is going to be one hell of a long plane ride. Future, Karomel, AU after X-Mas.


**Author's Note: Hey, folks! Still with me? I haven't posted a story in **_**ages!**_** Well, this pairing (which I call by its rightful name, "****Karomel****") really caught my attention, and this is the third story I've written involving Kurt and Dave. I'm not posting the first. It's ultra horrible, ridden with mistakes and plot holes. BUT I **_**am **_**posting the second. This one is more an advertisement fic (but just as enjoyable, eh, eh) so that you'll vote in the poll on my profile. Go vote now. Um, some of it is more stream-of-consciousness-esque, so…don't get **_**too **_**annoyed. BETA'd by yours truly. Which means it hasn't been BETA'd. :D**

**Enjoy!**

.*One Foot In*.

They don't tell you a lot of things concerning airline experiences. For instance, they don't tell you that you are not required to go to baggage claim for connecting flights. They don't tell you about random screenings. They don't tell you that sleep is insanely difficult without the proper pillows and mindset. They don't tell you a lot of things. Not assigned seats, nor intolerable boredom, nor air pockets that jar the plane, nor childhood experiences that shape who you are today.

Wait, what?

.O*o*O.

David Karofsky is in his last year of college, and he has decided to spend it abroad, in Europe. More specifically, Great Britain. He spent his college years (so far) in Ohio, at Ohio State. Taking leave one's final year is uncommon, but it happens.

Although it is strange, he enjoys flying. There is something calming about being thousands of feet above the ground, darting through thick blankets of clouds that follow the airplane in wisps until they fade away. There is something exciting about being on the last flight of the night, the Red Eye—so named because of its sleepy passengers, who exit with tired, bloodshot eyes.

There is something inexplicably grand bout walking through unfamiliar airports and absorbing the diluted city culture. It is obvious which style of clothing is popular in whichever city you are landed. Conversations of passersby reach your ears. The common accent can be discerned after a while. The smell of the city clings to people. And, oh—the smells! Each city has its own distinct scent, its own distinct foods. Airport food? Best experience in the world. You find a place that is the very essence of the city you spend moments in. You get a plate of food. And for those few minutes, as you enjoy the flavors of the meal, of the city, you are part of the general population. You belong to that city, that moment. And then you finish, and you're a visitor once again.

You get on the airplane, you find your seat, and—if you're particularly outgoing—you idly converse with those around you. Then, once all the luggage is loaded and all the safety precautions are glossed over, the metal tube's wheels find their purchase on the track and the thing drives forward, ever faster, the sound of wheels on asphalt deafening, the plane lifts off into the sky. And your body attempts to adjust to the change in air pressure. And there is air in your ear canals, and you are able to hear nothing but yourself.

But, oh, the view, if it isn't worth all the trouble! The sky, no matter how late it is or how far away the sun is, or how dark the moon is, is always lighter than the land below it. The land looks like a sea of black; the sky, an ocean of velvet blue. On a clear night, the stars twinkle above you and next to you, teasing you outside the smooth-cornered rectangular hole of a window. Then you look down at the street lamps, the car headlights, and it is as though the stars are reflected to the land, ten times brighter. An endless starlit sky above you, an endless starlit sky below you, around you. It is truly breathtaking.

Then the airplane slowly descends, and the pressure pushes on your ears, sometimes causing horrible pain that travels down the sides of your neck and your throat. Swallowing hardly works. Good luck yawning if you're wide awake. But then you do yawn, and some of the pressure is relieved, and then suddenly you can't stop yawning.

And the plane lands. And everyone exits. And you take your copy of SkyMall. And you're in a new city, with new scents, new sounds, and new people. And the whole experience starts anew.

Dave's plane lands in New York, JFK airport. His next flight is not for three hours. So he spends his time as he always does: exploring the place, eating the food, absorbing the culture. He has never been to New York, and at that moment decides to come back someday and explore the city outside the walls of the airport.

With under an hour left, the young man makes his way to the proper gate and checks in. They allow him to board early, an opportunity which he gratefully seizes. He quickly finds his seat to the left, next to a window, stows his bag under the seat in front of him, and pops in his ear buds, listening to some relaxing music on his old iPod. He leans his head against the window and attempts to sleep the time away (he fails miserably).

Nearly half an hour later, the airplane is nearly full, and Dave cracks open an eyelid to glance around. Directly to his right, a slender young man is stuffing his bag into the overhead compartment, face obscured by his arms. Dave closes his eye, uninterested, and continues his failing attempt to fall asleep. He feels movement beside him and faintly hears a seat belt buckle click into place.

Minutes later, he hears the intercom and pauses his iPod, making no other movement. He opens an eye again, and glimpses the face of the man next to him. He almost does a double take, but quickly reasons against it. He has more common sense than he did in high school, and decides that this is the best course of action. Continue pretending to be asleep—I mean, continue attempting to sleep. Dave attempts to overcome the shock quickly, and, for the third time, opens his eye infinitesimally.

Kurt Hummel is sitting beside him.

Kurt Hummel, looking as beautiful as ever, is sitting beside him. Granted, he is at the furthest edge of his seat away from Dave, but his body language and face show that he is obviously relaxed. Because his former high school bully is asleep. Or dead. He has one leg crossed over the other, as he always did in school, and a book is propped open on his lap. Dave marvels at the fact that Kurt has changed very little. His face is slightly more mature, and his hair is slightly shorter than the length he kept it all through high school, but he is still exactly the same. He still gives off that aura of confidence, he still dresses in very fashionable clothes, and he is still beautiful as ever.

Dave closes his eye, feigning sleep once again. This is going to be one hell of a long flight.

.O*o*O.

Two hours later the college boy jerks awake to a particularly loud metal song blasting into his ears. Startled, he turns off the cursed iPod, realizing that he finally did manage to fall asleep. And that his movements should be slight, so as not to disturb the boy dozing against his shoulder.

Wait, what?

Kurt, somehow, in two hours, managed to fall asleep AND sidle over to Dave AND snuggle up close to him. Dave, not minding at all (quite the contrary, in fact), smiles warmly down at the person he used to torment. Without a thought, he plants his nose in the silky expanse of hair right next to him and inhales deeply. He smiles. Kurt smells of vanilla and mint and fabric softener, things to be expected; he smells faintly of sweat, the water that has already escaped him while on the airplane, which Dave finds rather enticing; and he smells like New York, the plants, gravel, and smog of the big city sticking to him.

He breathes Kurt in, Kurt's very essence, for several minutes, eyes closed blissfully. Dave has only one word to describe this scent: Home. He lays his cheek across the top of the brunette's head, allowing himself to feel the warmth, the velvety softness, of this boy. Kurt moans in his sleep and readjusts himself, wrapping his arms around Dave's own. Dave can feel his heart rate increase ever so slightly and his face heat up. This is…embarrassing. Exhilarating. It most certainly does not make tiny butterflies flutter in his chest. Because Kurt was just a stupid high school crush. He got over his feelings. Right?

Dave again looks at the slighter man attached to his arm, and his heart melts, to be quickly lapped up by the little butterflies.

Without changing his position too much, Dave grabs the copy of SkyMall from the seat in front of him, and tries to read. And he tries not to think about the person next to him. And he tries to be interested in the machine that pumps more oxygen into water (to revitalize your body!). And he tries not to lean over and smell that beautifully tame hair again. And he ends up staring at the other boy until he begins to stir awake.

Kurt opens his eyes and immediately realizes his slim dancers arms are around someone else's. A man's. He realizes where he is and whose arm he is gripping. Lifting his head and taking his arms back, he whispers a quick apology before scooting over and leaning on the opposite arm rest.

"It's alright, Kurt," the other man replies casually, turning a page of the magazine he has not even looked up from.

Kurt freezes and his head turns ever so slowly in that direction, wide-eyed, not looking directly at the other.

Dave chuckles. "I immediately recognized you. And I _know _you know who I am." He looks up from his magazine and finally turns to stare at an astonished Kurt, who is speechless.

Turning away, Dave continues to glance through his magazine. "Relax," he says smoothly, the ghost of a grin still on his face, "I don't bite." _Much_, he adds in his head.

He pretends to be focused on the magazine, head bowed. He is rather embarrassed, because Kurt has been staring at him the past ten minutes, his body relaxing slowly. Dave feels his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. He is not used to being stared at so intensely. Finally, after another very long and excruciating minute, Kurt speaks. His voice is so soft.

"You really _have_ changed, haven't you?" he murmurs.

Dave sighs in exasperation and closes his magazine, turning to Kurt and returning the intense gaze. He is not angry, or happy even. Just honest. And that is all that shows on his face. "Well, I paid for my own plane ticket, and I'm enrolled in a university. If that doesn't answer your question, I don't know what will." He turns away quickly, feeling the butterflies rise again at the glimpse of Kurt's aquamarine eyes.

Kurt, satisfied with that answer, turns back to facing forward (although, Dave gratefully notices, he does not crush himself to the opposite side of the seat) and pulls out a handheld interweb device of some sorts, messing busily with the sleek touch screen.

And they silently go on with their own activities for over an hour.

.O*o*O.

"So," Dave begins awkwardly, having begun doodling absentmindedly on a legal pad (legal pad? Who uses _paper_ anymore?) that he packed last-minute in his carry-on bag. "England? Why?"

Kurt is absentmindedly typing on his virtual keyboard. There is only a slight pause in his smooth typing before it continues uninterrupted. "LAMDA internship," he drones.

"LAMDA?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "London Academy of Music and—"

"Dramatic Arts," Dave interrupts. "I remember. How long are you staying?"

"A month," Kurt replies, exiting his program, appearing bored. "What about you?"

"Studying abroad for a quarter," Dave replies, glancing over at Kurt, who is returning his device to his bag.

"That's…" Kurt struggles with the zipper for a moment. He succeeds, and looks up at Dave with a small (genuine) smile on his face, "great!"

Dave grins, glad to see the smile reach Kurt's eyes.

"What are you majoring in?" The smaller man asks, interest finally piqued.

"Anthropology and psychology."

Before he can stop himself, Kurt reverts back to high school self-righteous jerk. "I'm surprised you know what those words mean." He covers his mouth immediately.

Dave laughs. Hard. He has to bury his face in his arms to muffle his laughter, so as not to disturb the other passengers. Kurt, slightly shocked, lets a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

After several moments, Dave calms himself. "You're such a _bitch_, Hummel! I haven't heard anything that mean in_ ages_!"

Kurt grins, glad his big mouth (read: word vomit) is appreciated.

And they continue making lighthearted small talk for nearly an hour.

.O*o*O.

And then they get into the serious stuff.

"Yeah," Kurt is speaking animatedly, "and then New Directions _won_! And I, being in the Warblers, _totally_ wished I'd stayed!"

Dave's laughter, a deep rumble in his chest, subsides, and he looks at the well-dressed young man seriously.

"Kurt…" he begins, only to be silenced by a finger to his lips.

"Save it," Kurt murmurs, and his voice lowers to a tone that Dave labels as 'seductive.' "I don't want to hear your years-too-late apology. It'll do neither of us any good; and besides, I thought you'd figured out I've forgiven you already."

Dave contemplates this for a few moments, letting his eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. Then his face smoothes and he nods in agreement, just once.

"So, Dave," Kurt says, casually letting his hand fall from the other's face, "are you out and proud, or do you still have one foot in the closet?"

Dave snorts. "Well, I don't _flaunt _it like you do, but I tell the truth if I'm asked."

"Your parents?"

Dave understands the question. "Dad was really pissed that I wasn't comfortable enough to tell him. He's still getting used to it. Meanwhile, Mom's been trying to set me up on dates ever since." He laughs. "I love my mom.

"I told them right before I left for college. We had a long discussion, I left, there was next to no contact for about a month, and then we picked up right where we left off. Man, if I'd known they'd be so understanding, I would've figured out how to tell them in high school."

Kurt smiles warmly, his face mirroring Dave's own. Then he continues on with the tirade of questions.

"I assume college is where you first started experimenting with your sexuality?"

Dave nods. "You may not believe this, Kurt, but I was a complete virgin upon graduating high school. Never had sex. Male or female."

Kurt is slightly surprised at this, but he says nothing.

"Lost it six months into college, to the first boyfriend I'd ever had. Then we broke up three months later."

Kurt attempts to place his hand on Dave's shoulder, but the latter simply shrugs it off.

"I don't need your pity," he says, not unkindly. Then he brightens up and moves the conversation to Kurt. "Let me guess…your first time was with that Dalton boy."

Kurt stays silent, but the blood in his cheeks is all the answer Dave needs. He laughs and shakes his head. "I _hated_ that guy!"

This time it is Kurt's turn to cover his mouth, his muffled laughter like music. "That is quite unfortunate for you, because Blaine and I are still friends."

Dave feigns anger, but continues on. "Well, at least he's not your boyfriend anymore. So what poor guy do you have following you around nowadays?"

There is some hesitation, but it goes almost unnoticed. "Uh…no one, actually. I'm livin' the single life."

"Same here." Dave covers his blush with a cough and stares out the window for a few minutes. Realizing neither of them has talked for a while, he turns back to Kurt with a sentence on his tongue, but quickly closes his mouth. The other boy has fallen asleep again, with a small smile gracing his slightly-parted lips. Dave is filled with warmth at seeing that smile, and opens his magazine, pretending to read it, while actually spending his time reflecting on the previous conversation.

.O*o*O.

The airplane is suddenly hit by _very_ unfriendly turbulence, after over five hours of smooth sailing. Wait…no…flying. Dave is buckled in before the 'fasten seatbelts' light even becomes a thought in the captain's head. Kurt is jolted awake, and if it isn't the cutest thing that his dazed face shows complete confusion. Dave scoffs and folds up the arm rest separating them to have better access to Kurt's currently unbuckled seatbelt.

A particularly nasty air pocket hits them, and Kurt, quite the lightweight, is lifted off his seat before being thrown into Dave's arms. Dave does not even have time to be surprised, because the pain overtakes him. Kurt, wide awake now, and obviously fearful, has dug his nails into the larger boy's shoulders, holding on for dear life.

As much as he enjoys this, Dave knows this is probably the least safe position they can be in. "Kurt," he murmurs into the ear of the person in his arms, "Sit back and buckle up. It's going to be fine." Kurt obliges, and his vice grip on Dave's shoulders lets up, and he very shakily buckles himself in. His face is pale.

Without a thought, Dave grabs Kurt's hand. Their fingers intertwine automatically, and Dave spares a moment to marvel at how soft Kurt's hand is, and how perfectly it fits into his own. Then the smaller man is squeezing like his life depends on it (his knuckles are white on the opposite arm rest) and Dave can do nothing but squeeze right back.

After several minutes, the 'danger' has passed, and the captain lets his passengers know this via intercom. Kurt relaxes immediately. His body sinks into the chair, and his arms go limp. He does not pull his hand away. Dave fleetingly hopes he never will.

"Are you really that afraid of flying?"

Kurt can only nod dumbly.

"Wow," Dave exclaims, utterly surprised. "The way you walk around with your head held high, I guess I never realized that you _could _have fears."

Kurt lets out an amused "tut." It's about all he can muster.

Dave, with his free hand, pulls out a water bottle and uncaps it, handing it over to the other. To his pleasure, Kurt grabs it with his free hand instead of pulling his left out of Dave's right. In no time at all, he empties half the bottle and hands it back with a muttered, "Thanks."

Then he clears his throat, and his voice is back. "Fearless, huh?"

Dave chuckles. "It sure seemed like it. You walked around McKinley like you owned the place. Wear whatever you wanted, whatever the cost. Every time you were pushed down, you'd get up, a little stronger. A little more defiant. You were fearless. Until—" he tapers off, unsure.

"Until the end," Kurt finishes. "Even _I _can't handle death threats."

"Kurt, I—"

"Don't," Kurt interrupts fiercely. "I don't want to hear it."

"Well, _I _want to _say_ it," Dave growls, his voice a bit too sharp. Kurt stares at him in astonishment, and the former softens his voice and puts his free hand over the one already holding his own, so as to keep it trapped there. "Please." He is met with no argument, only a gaze that says 'fine, I give in.'

"I'm sorry for everything I put you through in high school," he begins. "I'm sorry for every slushie, every dumpster dive, every shove into lockers. I'm sorry for calling you names and being a hypocrite. And for singling you out. And pushing your boyfriend into a fence. I don't regret it, but I'm sorry for kissing you. And denying it. And continuing to hurt you after that. I'm sorry for being creepy, and for the death threat. I never meant it, but I was scared. Kurt…I'm…I'm so sorry." He can feel the tears pushing to the surface, and relinquishes his hold on Kurt's hand (Kurt, who is abnormally silent), and turns away to stare out the window. After a moment, he feels a strong (what?) hand on his shoulder, pulling him back into his seat. He weakly (_what?_) obliges, but continues to stare out the window. A cool hand gently grabs his chin, and he is forced to look into Kurt's smiling (WHAT?) face.

"I already said I forgive you," he says. "But now I'm picking apart your apology. First off, Blaine wasn't my boyfriend yet. I hadn't even been kissed yet."

Dave immediately feels guilty. "I'm sor—"

"_Enough_ with the apologies, David!" Kurt's hands are up. "You've said enough of those to last a lifetime. For the last time, _I. FORGIVE. YOU._"

Dave chuckles.

"But what do you mean, you don't regret it?"

Dave sighs. Might as well go for broke. "I mean…I admired you, Kurt. You were everything I was not, and everything I wanted to be. And I was so far in the closet I couldn't even admit it to myself. So I pushed you around in the hopes it'd make me feel better, but it didn't. It made me feel worse, every time that you'd just get up, brush yourself off, and carry on. I was…jealous. Of your strength. I hated you for it.

"And then one day the stress was grating too hard on me. And I'm assuming it was the same for you, because you ran after me and called me out."

Kurt chuckles. He remembers that day very well.

"I didn't even know what I was doing. One second, we were both yelling, and all I could think of was ruining your face. Then, the next, I was kissing you. I know you didn't want it, and I know it was stupid, but it was exactly what I needed. I may have acted the same after that, but I was changing. And in that kiss I realized everything that I was trying to deny. I realized who I was, and why I hated you, and that I was helplessly in love with you." Dave pauses for a moment.

"Is that why you went in for another kiss?" Kurt asks.

"Did I?" Dave smiles blankly, racking his brains for the memory.

"Yeah, and I pushed you away."

His eyes light up. "Oh! I remember! I dunno, I guess that's why I did it. I barely remember. But…the point is, that kiss was exactly what I needed to start changing. And that's why I don't regret it."

Kurt nods. "Hopelessly in love?"

Dave groans. "I'd hoped you wouldn't zone in on that."

Kurt grins mischievously. "Are you still hopelessly in love with me?"

Dave rolls his eyes. "Does it matter? I'm not your type, remember?"

"Oh, I was just angry. I was throwing out any insult I could think of. If you must know, it was your personality that I didn't like, and that's what shaped my view of everything else. So, if you must know, I like the guy you are now. You're very much my type." He blushes, before continuing. "So, are you still hopelessly in love with me?"

Dave is touched by this admittance, and a little embarrassed. He clears his throat in preparation of his own confession.

"In high school, yeah, I was hopelessly in love with you." Jeez, this phrase is getting _so_ overused. "In college, psychology actually, I figured out that it was possible I was projecting my feelings onto you because you were the only other gay I knew. I accepted that, and I thought that high school crush was gone." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "And I've experimented. I've been around. I've had boyfriends. But…seeing you here…talking to you now…those old feelings resurfaced, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe what I felt for you back then was…real. Not a projection of feelings." He looks away, embarrassed once again.

"Why do you do that?"

He turns back. "Huh?"

"Why do you try to hide when you're embarrassed, or ashamed?" Kurt is sincerely curious. His eyes are wide with innocent inquisitiveness. The expression makes him look young, like he should be back in high school. Dave, seeing those beautiful eyes, relents and smiles despite his discomfort.

"I guess it's an old habit to hide my feelings."

"Well, you should break that habit. Sometimes hiding leads to missing important things."

Dave is confused once again. "Huh?"

Kurt smiles, leans over, and presses his lips to the other man's cheek, giving him a soft kiss. Dave, disbelieving, touches his fingers to the very spot. "_Huh?_"

"You know, you should really say something other than that one syllable," Kurt says smoothly, pretending that moment never happened. "It makes you sound like an idiot jock."

Dave cracks a grin. "I _am _an idiot jock."

Kurt shakes his head. "Only idiot jocks have no fashion sense and wear tacky Letterman jackets every day." He gives Dave a once-over. "Not only do you have mildly acceptable clothing, but I also see no traces of anything sports-related."

"There's a reason for that," he quips, automatically knowing they're back on less serious stuff.

"Oh?" Kurt raises an eyebrow in interest.

"Yeah. I modeled myself after you. This," he motions to his broad (but not chubby) body and neatly chosen clothes, "is you, toned down ten-fold."

Kurt laughs. "Me from high school. I toned it down a bit as well. I'm flattered, though."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad."

They lapse into comfortable silence for a few minutes. Dave turns his iPod on (after untangling the ear buds, he puts one in, on the side opposite Kurt) and Kurt pulls out his device again.

.O*o*O.

Kurt speaks after about fifteen minutes, in a fairly low voice. It is so quiet that Dave is not sure he has heard anything at all. He pauses his iPod.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'I have a confession.' "

"Oh," is all Dave can think of to say. "Okay."

"A boy never forgets his first kiss," Kurt begins quietly. "I mean…technically it was my second, but I don't count Brittany."

Dave has to try really, _really_ hard not to laugh at that.

"I hated you for stealing that from me. I hated that it didn't change anything. And I hated that I actually liked it." He ignores Dave's shocked face, staring down at his hands. "I'd never been kissed that way before, and I've never been kissed that way since. I…I can't even describe it. I was…horrified, and everything you'd expect of that…but…given time, I guess the only thing I would have changed was that it was someone I liked. Or that I liked you. If you weren't a dumb jock, there's a chance I would've liked you back then."

"Kurt," Dave interjects. "…what are you saying?"

"I'm saying…maybe it's possible I might kinda sorta very slightly have feelings for you?"

"Oh." He is once again at a loss. "Cool."

And an uncomfortable silence ensues.

.O*o*O.

Dave falls asleep without meaning to. He leaned his forehead against the cool window for only a moment, lost in thought, and then suddenly he forgot to open his eyes.

Kurt jumps when he feels strong arms wrap around him. He realizes that Dave is asleep and sighs. Reaching over, he turns off his Kindle (the newest version) and pockets it, snuggling into Dave's chest and also letting himself rest, closing his eyes and falling asleep immediately.

.O*o*O.

"_Attention, passengers: we will be landing in ten minutes. Please place seats in an upright…"_

Kurt and Dave are jolted awake by the intercom that neither of them pay any attention to. Dave is greeted with the amazing surprise of Kurt in his arms, but he immediately loosens his grip. Kurt sits up after a moment and buckles himself in, smiling sheepishly at the college student.

"Kurt." Dave is slightly delirious, having just woken up. He does thoughtless things when he's half asleep.

"Yeah?" he is busy packing up his carry-on, and does not so much as glance up.

"Um…your first kiss…"

Kurt looks up, and Dave looks into those beautiful eyes and falters.

'…Yes, Dave?" he is watching the other boy curiously.

Dave feels his face heat up, and turns away. "Nothing. Forget it." His heart is hammering, and now that he is wide awake, he realizes it was stupid to open his mouth. Then those cool fingers once again find their way to his chin and guide his face back to the center of the airplane. Kurt is now staring intently.

"Say it, David," he murmurs.

He looks up and meets Kurt's gaze, hazel-brown meeting aquamarine.

"I thought…maybe I could make up for that."

A knowing smile crawls across Kurt's face, and he simply nods, never breaking eye contact. Dave shifts in his seat, and Kurt mirrors the movement. Like the first time, Dave grabs either side of Kurt's face with his hands. His thumbs against those soft cheeks, fingers in that feathery hair and against his warm neck. He leans forward slowly, deciding this time will be as opposite the last time as possible.

Then their lips connect. Dave marvels at how soft Kurt's lips are; Kurt's thoughts are in the same direction (_has he started using lip balm?_ he idly wonders). Kurt kisses Dave back this time, and both he and Dave are taking their time to commit to memory the feel of each other. After a few seconds they break the kiss, staring into each other's eyes. And all they can see, feel, or think is _wow_.

Kurt is very pleasantly surprised. This kiss outmatches the first (and not just because they both have more experience now). Dave was slow and careful, but the passion and the need and the_ power_ were still there. Kurt is breathless, and he stares into Dave's eyes as the latter lets his hands slowly slip back towards himself.

Dave, equally breathless, is amazed at how much better a kiss is when it is reciprocated. He replaces the years-old memory with this one, deciding there is no comparison. He blinks and smiles ever so slightly, before pulling away, making to sit back in his seat. The pressure in the airplane is already changing—he can feel it in his ear canals. However, before he can even move six inches, Kurt's hand shoots out and grabs his shirt front. Before he can even think, his mouth is on Kurt's once again, Kurt whose mouth is moving against his with unadulterated need. Dave kisses back wholeheartedly, his hands making their way to the other's shoulder, feeling those cool, slender hands on his waist.

He pulls the smaller boy as close as their seatbelts will allow, feeling his lithe body against his own broad one. Kurt is very forward, he realizes, as he feels Kurt's tongue against his mouth. Dave parts his lips, granting access, and the butterflies filling his stomach and chest threaten to break free. Speaking of chest, that's where Kurt's hands are, while his own have managed to wind their way around the former's waist. Nothing in the world can compare to the heavenly feel of—

"Excuse me, you need to sit back in your seats," the stewardess interrupts. Kurt groans and Dave laughs, but they do as they are told. What a buzz kill. They grin at each other and face forward, both instinctively knowing that the moment and the five-hour friendship are over.

The plane lands in minutes, and Kurt stands up immediately, stretching his lean body (a view which the other finds pleasing to no end).

"Goodbye, Dave," he says, a hint of remorse in his tone.

"…'Bye, Kurt." He does not hide his disappointment as the other boy walks away down the crowded aisle of the airplane.

Dave sits there for several minutes, contemplating. Isn't that just like the airline experience? You get fleeting moments of intrigue, boredom, happiness. For mere moments, Dave was happier than he had ever been. He had his high school crush, his role model, the person always in the back of his mind, in his arms. He kissed those willing lips and he poured out his heart. For only a short amount of time, they shared a romance. Something absolutely beautiful.

And now it's gone. They are, once again, two individuals, unmarvelous and unimportant to the rest of the world. No longer are they citizens of the airplane they shared. Dave sighs. Oh, woe, airlines. Beautiful and terrible. Fleeting moments of what life could be.

Unless…

.O*o*O.

Dave reaches baggage claim, not even paying attention to the moving belt of suitcases. He is only looking for one thing. He scans the crowd quickly and sighs. Too late. Of course. Story of his life.

He turns around, and spots a slim figure rolling a black suitcase, making for the exit.

"Kurt!"

The figure turns around quickly, stopping, revealing a beautiful face and sparkling aquamarine eyes. Sparkling? Dave takes the few strides to Kurt and notices his eyes are slightly red.

"Kurt," he says, ignoring this. "We're both gonna be here a while. Do you…" he scratches the back of his head. "I dunno…do you wanna hang out?"

Kurt grins, and Dave thinks there is no way he could look better than he does now. He reaches out a hand in Dave's direction.

"Share a cab with me?"

Dave smiles and reaches Kurt's hand with his own.

Their fingers intertwine automatically.

**AN: Fun Fact: I finished typing this in the bathroom, so the computer screen wouldn't bother anyone. Haha.**


End file.
